“Whose faith? Whose freedom? And, for that matter, freedom to do what?”
“Whatever they want to do.”
“Over several tens of thousands of years, first on ancient Earth, and then on every planet or system thereafter, human beings were free to do what they wanted. Tell me what happened.”
“This time will be different.”
“Every would-be tyrant has said that. The very fact that you tried to destroy me shows that it won’t be,” Corvyn pointed out.
“There are always casualties in the struggle for freedom.”
“Every faith on Heaven has the same rights to try to persuade others to its beliefs. They just can’t do it by any form of force. Why is that evil? Or wrong?”
“Because those who believe in false premises and false gods harm themselves and others. If people believe in the wrong tenets, holding to ways and thoughts that will harm themselves and others, how can I not use force to bring them to the light and the truth? Yet you and your tin god prohibit any effective means to bring them to the truth and the way.”
“Nothing prohibits you or your believers from trying to convince others of the truth of your beliefs. You just can’t use force as a means of obtaining support for your faith and beliefs.” Corvyn knew his arguments would be rejected, but even Jaweau should have a choice. He also knew that Jaweau intended to keep talking until Corvyn was too weak and too pain-ridden to act effectively to oppose him.
“And aren’t you and the tin god doing exactly the same thing by using force to prohibit us from leaving Heaven?”
Corvyn smiled, painful as it was. “You’re absolutely right. The difference is that the way in which the Pearls of Heaven restrain people doesn’t destroy planets or kill millions, if not billions of intelligent beings.”
“You’re no different, and that being the case—”
Corvyn understood exactly what Jaweau was about to do, and, before the other could complete the sentence that he felt he must, Corvyn called on all the powers of the Pearls of Heaven, as he could only do while existing in the control center, cloaking himself in shadow as he did so, knowing that he, too, would burn, even within the shadows, but that pain would end … one way or another.
A much smaller version of the Lances of Heaven blazed so brightly within that space that was not just space, within those fields that were both more and less than energy or space-time, that any sun, even that of Heaven, would have been black by comparison.
Jaweau did not even have time to say another word.
And the backlash of the agony of his death—real death—washed over Corvyn, who was paralyzed for a long moment with the experience of that burning pressure.
Even as his body was failing, still within the twisting multiple levels of the shadows, Corvyn concentrated on returning to the only possible place to preserve his unique stream of consciousness and self-awareness, knowing that the moment he left the shadows, death was only instants away. Each mille he crossed, even in relatively empty space, burned more than the previous mille, hollowing out his very being.
When he finally did leave the multiple levels of the shadows, lightnings burned along every nerve in his body, and dull spikes pounded through his skull, but only for the single instant before he collapsed.
Where, now, will the raven go?
Beyond the light, beyond the snow?
45
When Corvyn was next aware, or half aware, his entire body was being jabbed by needles that penetrated through skin, flesh, and bone, and each needle felt as though it was also a set of jaws, except those jaws were ripping pieces out of him even as the needles were sewing him back together. He could not breathe through his nose, and he could not open his mouth to gasp for the slightest bit of air.
Then liquid oxygen flowed over him, and he felt his body turning to stone before the cold darkness settled over him.
When he again sensed himself, he finally could open his eyes, but he was still in the cradle, his naked body surrounded by foam-like nutrients except around his face. Tiny needles still pricked at his skin and into his flesh … or that was the way that it felt, but he could breathe. All he could see at first was the transparent shield a few centimeters above his eyes, but as his vision cleared, beyond that he saw Huginn looking down at him.
Corvyn blinked several times, then tried to clear his throat, but those muscles did not seem to be working. As he realized that he had never sensed or felt Huginn and Muninn pick his dying body off the gray slate tiles of the floor and carry him swiftly into the depths of the villa, where the special cradle had waited for him, a warmer darkness settled over him.
For some time—how long it was, he could not tell—Corvyn drifted between painful and sometimes just uncomfortable semi-awareness and total dreamless darkness.
Then, almost abruptly, he was aware and awake, if still in the cradle, but the shield had been removed. Both Huginn and Muninn stood there, looking down at him.
Corvyn swallowed, then managed to ask, “How long has it been?”
“Eight months, sir,” replied Huginn with a smile of relief. “We weren’t sure…”
“There was almost no thread of continuity,” added Muninn.
“You’ll need a physical conditioning program, although we did what we could through the cradle,” said Huginn.
“Can I get out of here now?”
“If you can input the release code, either verbally or through the shadows.”
Release code? Corvyn had to think for several moments before recalling the single word. “Nevermore.”
Immediately, the restraints relaxed, and the cradle tilted and turned slightly.
Corvyn eased himself out, but his legs were shaky.
Huginn handed him a robe, and Corvyn put it on, all too aware that his skin felt sticky and his stomach empty. He also knew that he would be able to eat very little, but he smiled when he saw the teapot and cup on the table in the recovery room. He was more than glad to sit down and let Muninn pour the tea.
“Is there a new Jaweau?”
“Yes, sir. I believe he was one of the lesser angels of the White Faith. The primary angels did not survive the destruction of the intelligence systems beneath the Mount of Faith. The Brothers and Sisters of Mercy found several men without memories on the Beach of Forgetfulness, and at least one who did not survive.” Huginn looked at Corvyn inquisitively.
“I did what I could. Not being able to invade the intelligence systems of a hegemon or to act directly upon any hegemon without proof…” He shrugged. “But that’s the way the First set it up, and we’re bound by it.”
Not that Corvyn hadn’t found ways, over the centuries … and longer, to learn how to accomplish what he must within those parameters.
What had been behind all the Falls was that all too human—and even divine—desire to make something perfect in one single image, and to force it into being with the bright glory of shining arms—except arms were never shining, except in the imagination of unrestrained idealists and fanatics, although in practice the two were the same. That desire always empowered the war gods, the gods of battle, who were more than willing to lead the fight for that single blazing vision of perfection that never was and never could be. And when it was all over, and the Fall had once more destroyed a good, or functioning, society in the name of pure faith and a perfect unattainable ideal … the Frost Giants stalked, for a time, before the cycle once more began to repeat itself.
Corvyn took a small sip of the bergamot tea.
EPILOGUE
Corvyn slid out of the shadows near the piers on the River Acheron, piers located almost precisely 231 milles northeast of the gray stone point at Ilium where the Yellow River joined the Acheron. He glanced toward the boat moored to the goldenwood bollard that rose above the smooth golden planks of the pier, the only wooden piers in any city ruled by a hegemon, but that was scarcely surprising, given that as much as possible connected to the Maid was natural, from the wood of the piers to the oak plank
s of the boat itself to the hemp mooring lines.
For a time, he watched as passengers disembarked from the boat, their garments in all shades, colors, and styles, although a slightly larger proportion seemed to be wearing white.
Corvyn smiled sadly. Many of those in white would be disappointed, because they likely fled from the failure of the former White One to provide a simple shining white truth to follow. Then he turned from the pier toward Aethena proper, where tall dark woods flowed through the city, one of the reasons why it was often called the City of the Forests.
No one even looked at his dark gray jacket as he walked toward the comparatively low white-columned building that appeared to grow out of the only unforested hill in Aethena, one slightly taller than the others, if sprinkled with tall and well-shaped trees rising out of gardens and grass.
In time, after making his way through the winding streets that held a mixture of homes and small shops, with frequent smaller parks, he came to a spreading expanse of gardens and greenery. Before him was a fountain with a circular walk around it. He stopped in front of the fountain and studied it—just a spray of water that looked white against the greenery. Not even a statue, just that spreading fan of water. Around the green-tinged marble of the pool rim grew low flowers, white with diamond-green centers. Just the hint of a fragrance teased him, something between rockroses and lavender, then faded away with a puff of a breeze.
Three paths wound away from the fountain in a general uphill direction. Corvyn squinted, realizing that there was a fourth path, concealed by shadows. With an amused smile, he took it, following the twisting way upward, past gardens filled with flowers of every shade and color. At the top of the hill he stopped just short of the white-columned temple.
One moment he was standing alone in the shadows of the structure, perhaps not a copy of another white-columned building, but certainly a representation meant to evoke similar feelings, when he sensed the shifting of the quantum shadows and she stood beside him.
She wore the same green jacket and trousers with the cream-colored blouse that she had as Erinna, and she smiled but did not speak.
Instead, she gestured to a bench in a shaded glade off the path. The bench was of the same smooth natural oak as all the others he had passed as he followed the shadowed path. Corvyn walked beside her to the bench, where she sat at one end. Corvyn sat at the other, turning slightly to face her. Since she had not spoken, he did.
“I never got here on my last journey. I thought it might be a good idea.”
“You didn’t need to come. You did what was necessary.”
Corvyn didn’t want to admit that he was limited by what was necessary. Instead, he asked, “Why did you act as a poetess?”
“Because you’re known for your love of poetry.”
Corvyn frowned.
“Was I wrong?”
Corvyn laughed softly before saying, “That is one of my weaknesses.”
The Maid looked at Corvyn, and for the first time in eons, he felt less than comfortable. He wondered why.
“Because you’re not the only one.” She smiled enigmatically.
After a moment, Corvyn smiled in return.
TOR BOOKS BY L. E. MODESITT, JR.
THE SAGA OF RECLUCE
The Magic of Recluce
The Towers of the Sunset
The Magic Engineer
The Order War
The Death of Chaos
Fall of Angels
The Chaos Balance
The White Order
Colors of Chaos
Magi’i of Cyador
Scion of Cyador
Wellspring of Chaos
Ordermaster
Natural Ordermage
Mage-Guard of Hamor
Arms-Commander
Cyador’s Heirs
Heritage of Cyador
Recluce Tales
The Mongrel Mage
Outcasts of Order
The Mage-Fire War
Fairhaven Rising
(forthcoming)
THE COREAN CHRONICLES
Legacies
Darknesses
Scepters
Alector’s Choice
Cadmian’s Choice
Soarer’s Choice
The Lord-Protector’s Daughter
Lady-Protector
THE IMAGER PORTFOLIO
Imager
Imager’s Challenge
Imager’s Intrigue
Scholar
Princeps
Imager’s Battalion
Antiagon Fire
Rex Regis
Madness in Solidar
Treachery’s Tools
Assassin’s Price
Endgames
THE SPELLSONG CYCLE
The Soprano Sorceress
The Spellsong War
Darksong Rising
The Shadow Sorceress
Shadowsinger
THE ECOLITAN MATTER
Empire & Ecolitan
(comprising The Ecolitan Operation and The Ecologic Secession)
Ecolitan Prime
(comprising The Ecologic Envoy and The Ecolitan Enigma)
THE GHOST BOOKS
Of Tangible Ghosts
The Ghost of the Revelator
Ghost of the White Nights
Ghost of Columbia
(comprising Of Tangible Ghosts and The Ghost of the Revelator)
OTHER NOVELS
The Forever Hero
(comprising Dawn for a Distant Earth, The Silent Warrior, and In Endless Twilight)
Timegods’ World
(comprising Timediver’s Dawn and The Timegod)
The Hammer of Darkness
The Green Progression
The Parafaith War
Adiamante
Gravity Dreams
The Octagonal Raven
Archform: Beauty
The Ethos Effect
Flash
The Eternity Artifact
The Elysium Commission
Viewpoints Critical
Haze
Empress of Eternity
The One-Eyed Man
Solar Express
Quantum Shadows
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L. E. MODESITT, JR., is the bestselling author of the fantasy series the Saga of Recluce and the Imager Portfolio. His science fiction includes Adiamante, the Ecolitan novels, the Forever Hero trilogy, and Archform: Beauty. Besides a writer, Modesitt has been a U.S. Navy pilot, a legislative assistant and staff director for a U.S. congressman, director of legislation and congressional relations for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, and a college lecturer. He lives in Cedar City, Utah. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, JR.
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
QUANTUM SHADOWS
Copyright © 2020 by Modesitt Family Revocable Living Trust
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Michael Graziolo
Cover images by Shutterstock.com
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication
Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-22920-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-22921-2 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250229212
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First Edition: 2020
Quantum Shadows Page 30
